


The stranger, the friend, the lover

by twimatt



Category: Muse
Genre: Funeral, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 03:17:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twimatt/pseuds/twimatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3 different persons, 3 different relations, same scenery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The stranger, the friend, the lover

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily based on what I felt when I attended my first funeral earlier this year.
> 
> Many thanks to thekeyholder for beta <3
> 
> Written for the July Stellarclouds Challenge: Two Sides of Every Story.

**The stranger**

The church wasn’t nearly full.

Of the twenty benches only five had people seated in them.

But it was as they had wished. A small service, family and closest friends only.

How I wish it could have been for another purpose.

The organ slowly spreads its tones around the church, muffling all other sounds. It’s not a dark or moody melody, but not light and happy either. It’s something in between, with elements of both dark and light.

I find it very touching, and hope that the others feel the same.

The last family member walks through the doors and up the aisle, eyes cast downwards.

He has a bouquet in his hands. The flowers do not match, but I assume it has a personal meaning.

The music dies out shortly after the man sits down at the front bench, bouquet still in his hands.

They told me he is a musician.

A successful musician in a successful band with people who were closer to him than his own family.

I must admit that curiosity got the better of me, and I had looked up their band on the internet later that evening when I had started to prepare my speech for this day.

What I had found shocked me.

So many people, moved and affected by these three persons.

Although they are only two left on this earth now.

On my way to the microphone in front of the altar, I glance at the white coffin. A small mountain of delicate flowers given by the band’s crew already decorate the top, and two purple banners are stretched out on each side of the coffin, offering their condolences.

Facing the attendants at the end of the coffin there is a picture of a young man, squinting slightly against the sharp sun which is illuminating his face.

I reach the microphone and nod slightly to the people on both sides, thinking about how sad it is that this young man had to leave this realm so early, but also about how lucky he was, to have been loved by so many.

“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. Ladies and gentlemen. We have gathered here to take one last goodbye--”

 

**The friend**

As soon as I step into the church and see the white coffin ahead, I feel my eyes welling up with tears.

I freeze up, unable to tear my eyes away.

I hear one of my best friends sucking in a breath behind me, his warm palm pressing against my back, gently motioning me forwards to our seats at the front.

The closer I go, the better I see the picture. I remember when we took it, on last year’s Midsummer Eve, somewhere deep in America.

A hybrid between a laugh and a sob escapes me when I remember how fucking pissed out of his mind he had been that evening.

I feel my friend slowly rubbing my back, and I feel so bad, so fucking selfish, because he has also lost his best friend, and here he is comforting me when I don’t do a shit for him. And yet I can’t resist but to lean into his soothing and calming touch.

The church is nearly empty, but all faces are familiar. Just as we knew he wanted it.

In the early days we had often spoken about life and death when we were drunk or stoned, often both.

But I also know that they had talked a lot about it when they were alone and sober, amongst other things. Sometimes it felt like they could only truly open up to each other if they were alone, judging by how they would smile and giggle when they came out from their room.

It’s only when the music stops and he sits down beside me that the full impact of what’s happening hits me.

He’s gone.

Forever.

And we are left here with years ahead, years which will never be quite the same again now that he’s gone.

I want to reach out and pull the men at my sides into a permanent embrace, as if I through that could secure their presence for eternity.

Instead I lay my hands on their shoulders and squeezes tight, pulling them in slightly to my sides.

We are all in this together, and it is like this we shall face the future.

Together.

The priest appears and nods to us, silently offering her support and condolences as she walks towards the microphone.

“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. Ladies and gentlemen. We have gathered here to take one last goodbye--”

 

**The lover**

I hate him.

I hate him so much.

How dare he leave me here alone?

How dare he leave me when he knows I love him so much?

No. I don’t hate him. It is me I hate with such intensity.

I was the one driving, and I didn’t see the fucking car until it was too late.

Until the bitch had taken him away from me. Forever.

I look down at the bouquet consisting of eight flowers.

The two dark red tulips. (I miss you so)

The white daisy. (I believe in your purity)

The pink carnation. (I love you)

The blue lilac. (I will remain at your side until death brings us apart)

The two yellow buttercups. (You are still the sunshine in my life)

The red carnation. (I count the days until we will meet again)

I had thought about bringing support for picking out the flowers, but had thought against it. At the time it had felt like it was something too personal, but in all honesty I had been selfish.

Just as selfish as when I wished the drunk bitch dead.

I do not now though. I blame her equally as much as I blame myself for what happened, but if she had any family, I’m glad that they don’t have to go through what I’m about to do.

A young brunette walks into the small room where I am waiting. In many ways it feels like I’m waiting for my doom.

She says something, but I can’t really hear her. Everything is distant for me now. Sounds, reactions, feelings and emotions.

Cold.

Numb.

Dead.

Gone.

Just like him.

Like me.

She stops in the doorway and says something more.

I squeeze the bouquet in my hand hard, and take a deep breath, standing up slowly, hesitating.

I can do this.

I can face my devils. I have done it before, I can do it again.

I remind myself that I am not alone in this.

I am just without him this time around.

Before I know it, I am walking up the aisle, but for all the wrong reasons.

I keep my eyes on the marble floor.

On another day I might have been able to appreciate its beauty.

But not today.

I can face my devils. I will face them. But I cannot face them all at once, not here. Not with these people looking at me.

The music surrounds me with its earthy tones. I like it. He would’ve liked it too.

I sit down and distantly feel a hand grab my shoulder, pulling me against a warm, solid and very alive body, and that is when I break down, tears running freely down my face accompanied by quiet yet powerful sobs coursing through through my entire body.

I still do not look up, or untangle my messy self from my band mate’s embrace even as the priest begins to speak.

“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. Ladies and gentlemen. We have gathered here to take one last goodbye--”


End file.
